


Dreams of Nightmares

by SofiaTheFangirl



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Throne of Glass Fusion, Competition, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friendship, Romance, Romantic Angst, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SofiaTheFangirl/pseuds/SofiaTheFangirl
Summary: "Sometimes I think it isn’t worth following your dream if a nightmare comes as part of the package."Aelin and Rowan are both pastry chefs - highly competitive pastry chefs, at that. According to their friends, they're a perfect match - or would have been, if they weren't mortal enemies.
Relationships: Aedion Ashryver/Lysandra, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Lorcan Salvaterre/Rowan Whitethorn, Lysandra & Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celeana Sardothien
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	1. Pastries, Pain, and Pessimism

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter fanfic focusing on Aelin and Rowan and the drama that follows them both, because what are they if not dramatic. 
> 
> Throne of Glass AU

Aelin deftly caught a chocolate truffle out of the air, spinning it on her finger a few times before placing it delicately on the cake. It was a huge, ornate thing, with layers and layers of fondant and roses and even a few real crystallized petals (Aelin snuck a few when no one was watching). 

“Stop showing off,” muttered her cousin, Aedion. He was just a mite taller than her, which she loved to tease him about. He had her golden blond waves and turquoise-and-gold Ashryver eyes. They were inseparable; practically twins, in fact. 

“Admit it - you’re glad I’m here.” He rolled his eyes and tossed her another truffle. She opened her mouth and watched Aedion’s eyes widen as it popped in neatly.

“What the hell, Aelin!” he said. “That was the last chocolate!” She chewed furiously, gulping it all down just as her boss walked in the room. 

“What’s going on here?” he asked, seeming bored. Aelin smiled innocently. 

“Nothing, Whitethorn,” she sang. His eyes narrowed as he took in her chocolate-smeared mouth and Aedion’s furious expression. 

“You’re supposed to be decorating the cake, not eating the toppings, Galathynius,” he said, arms crossed. “Now get your shit together and give me one good reason not to charge you for that chocolate.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes. Rowan Whitethorn - the most insufferable, infuriating boss in the history of pastry chefs. He thought he was so great, just because he was hot. Well, Aelin had lots of man candy to choose from, so he had nothing on her. 

She watched enviously as he spun the cake around and ended up with a perfect ring of whipped cream. Did he have any idea how long it had taken her to even get close to that layer of perfection? As if hearing her thoughts, he glanced over and cocked an eyebrow, eyes glinting. Intolerable asshole. His ego was bigger than hers, and that was saying something. 

Rowan glared at her, silver hair covering his eyes slightly. “Seeing as you can’t seem to do anything right, how about you go home?” She gaped at him, outraged. 

“What the hell do you mean?” she said, pointing furiously at the cake she just decorated. “It looks amazing.” 

He looked at it condescendingly. “The rose is off-center. The petals aren’t distributed evenly, and your fondant is crinkled. Go home, Aelin.”

“And what is that going to do, other than leave you with two times the work?” she challenged. 

He didn’t take the bait. “It also leaves me with one less brat to deal with.” He turned his back. Aedion shot her a sympathetic glance, but she ignored it and stormed out of the kitchen. The nerve of that man, thinking he was so  _ great  _ -

She flung open her car door and twisted the key in the ignition, slamming the gas pedal aggressively. She and Lysandra were about to have the  _ best _ diss, Rowan Whitethorn be damned. 

When she arrived at her apartment, she stalked in and threw her bag on the couch. Her roommate and best friend Lysandra was sitting there with a bowl of chips. 

“I envy you,” Aelin sighed dramatically. Lysandra raised a perfectly manicured dark brow questioningly. 

“Yes, I  _ am  _ beautiful,” she said. “But no, what’s going on? You look like you got caught by a ridderak in an alleyway.”

Aelin plopped down on the couch and stole a handful of chips. Lysandra hissed and playfully batted her hand. 

“Murder’s a crime, right?” 

Her friend snorted. “No, duh.” 

“Too bad.” 

“Who do you want to kill this time?” 

“Rowan Whitethorn,” Aelin snarled. 

“Oooh, the hottie,” Lysandra whistled. “Kill in which way?” 

Aelin smacked her arm. “As in slay, murder, assassinate, destro -”   
  


“Calm down,” she said soothingly. “What the hell happened at work?” 

“He practically told me I was worthless!” she said furiously. “And then he made me go home, because I wasn’t good enough or something -”

“Well, then that’s his problem,” Lysandra said reasonably. 

“I need some wine,” moaned Aelin, getting up and banging through the kitchen cabinets. She grabbed a cheap bottle of red and poured herself a substantial glass. She hadn’t always drunk this much. But there were many things she would like to forget. Alcohol, at least, was reliable. It always took the same amount to get her drunk, and bottles were always the same size. 

She poured another cup for Lysandra and walked back to the sofa. They clinked glasses and drank deeply. She slammed hers down on the coffee table with a sigh, feeling the familiar warm rush of the wine flow through her like a jolt of electricity. 

“What the hell,” she muttered and chugged the rest of it. “I deserve it.” 

“You do, my friend,” said Lysandra, who sipped hers prettily. “Work isn’t half as hard when you’re a dance teacher.” She taught at night, leaving her days free. 

Aelin ran a hand through her long, wavy hair. “Sometimes I think it isn’t worth following your dream if a nightmare comes as part of the package.” 

“You’ve always wanted to be a chef,” said Lysandra. “Why let an asshole like Whitethorn get in your way?” She nodded reflectively, staring at her empty glass. 

“At least I have Aedion.” She closely watched Lysandra’s reaction, grinning when her friend blushed. “You wish  _ you  _ did.” 

She scoffed, waving a hand. “Shut up, Aelin.”

“You like him,” she teased mischievously, feeling like a little kid again. “And he likes you. Although it is a little gross that he’s my cousin and you’re my best friend.”

Lysandra laughed, but her face was turning redder. “Seriously. Nothing’s going on.” 

“I wish I had someone like Aedion when I was younger,” Aelin said, her face softening. “Would have saved me quite a bit of trouble.” 

Lysandra took her hand. “Arobynn?” She nodded. Arobynn Hamel was a wealthy customer of  _ Délices,  _ the pastry shop Aelin worked at. What they had was just a hook-up - he was so much older than her that it really could have never been serious. But at the time, she thought it was love. She didn’t know how much of a lying backstabber he was until he tricked her to invest all her money in his firm - which turned out to be a fake. He left her broke on the streets. Lysandra had taken her in, refusing to let her pay any rent until she gained enough money to support herself. She couldn’t see red hair without grimacing anymore. 

Aelin was twenty-two now, and a great deal smarter than she was at seventeen. And more scarred, too, though not all of those were physical. 

“I miss Sam,” she whispered, almost not daring to say it. Without having to ask, Lysandra pulled her into a tight hug. 

“I know,” she said softly. 

  
  
  


After binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy for more hours than she should have, Aelin woke up, still crashed on the couch with a spilled bowl of Cheetos over her. She groaned and sat up, rubbing her head. She had a splitting headache from all the alcohol. Today was going to be a nightmare. 

She stumbled to the bathroom and switched on the light. She was a mess, with deep bags under her eyes and hair all over the place. She sighed deeply and began to flick Cheeto dust off her best leggings. After applying a thick layer of concealer, she changed into a loose blue blouse and gray leggings, twirling her hair into a passable messy bun. 

Aelin packed up her bag with a salad for lunch and a few bottles of water, and then hit the road, dreading work. 

As soon as she walked in, Whitethorn stalked up to her. 

“Where the hell have you been?” he said brusquely. She brushed past him. 

“Leave me alone, okay, Whitethorn?” She had no time for his bullshit today. He seemed taken off guard and backed away, chest rippling through his skintight t-shirt. 

She started to whip up a quick pie crust, folding in butter and flour aggressively. Rowan didn’t leave, but instead watched her carefully, arms crossed. 

“Either you have a problem, or you’re enjoying the view,” said Aelin, her expression never changing as she rolled out the dough. A lock of blond hair dropped in her eye. She blew it away without a thought, pursing her lips noticeably. She looked for a reaction from Rowan, but he never even batted an eye. Gods, had that man never seen a woman in his life? Maybe he was gay. Aelin traced his tattoo down the side of his face until it disappeared under his shirt, trying to bait him. He stayed perfectly still. She huffed and started to chop apples. 

“If you’re trying to seduce me, it won’t work,” he said. She rolled her eyes, not even bothering to reply. He knew as well as she did her level of interest in him - none. After leaving security guard Chaol Westfall last year, she wasn’t at all ready for another investment or heartbreak - least of all with Rowan bloody Whitethorn. 

“I was just going to say the Brackyns liked your cupcakes,” he said reluctantly. Aelin practically beamed. She worked long and hard on those, making sure every single sprinkle was perfectly in place. And it had paid off. This must be one of those days she didn’t regret being stuck here. As much as she hated to say it, Whitethorn was a good chef, if not a great teacher. But she learned a lot. Although the forced proximity was insufferable. 

“You’ve said it, now go,” she said cheerfully. He wasn’t going to ruin her day, not when he made her life a living hell six out of seven.

He left silently. Good riddance. Now she could bake in peace, for once. 

Aelin couldn't help but feel a little lonely as she slid her pie into the oven.


	2. Not All Scars Are on the Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aelin's scars get ripped wide open again when she's forced to relive unspeakable trauma. And Rowan certainly isn't helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a writing MANIAC :) Two chapters in two days! You lucky ducks.

The morning started out like any other. Aelin woke up, took a run around the block, applied a heavy layer of make-up, and then realized something. 

Her car was missing. 

She frantically ran through the parking lot in her hoodie and sweats, looking for a silver Corolla with a golden retriever sticker peeking out the back window. No luck. 

“Pick up, Lys,” she muttered frantically, holding her phone to her ear. _Brrrring. Brrrring._

“Hello! You have reached Lysandra Caraverre. I am currently unavailable, but -” Aelin hung up angrily. Of course. Lys had a studio class on Saturday mornings. She called Aedion next, hoping against hope he would pick up. 

“Fireheart!” She huffed in relief. 

“My car got stolen,” she said without preamble. 

“What?” said Aedion in disbelief. 

“Yeah,” she said somberly. “As if my luck could get any worse.” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t drive you to work,” he muttered anxiously. “I’m in the middle of my boxing class.” Aelin sighed deeply. 

“No, that’s fine.” She ended the call and walked dejectedly back to her apartment, going over her options. Manon, Elide, and Dorian all worked on Saturdays. Which left Chaol… who was also not a choice. There was Asterin, Manon’s best friend, but she freaked Aelin out. 

Aelin changed into something more professional and stomped out of the apartment, making her way to the bus. Gods, she hated buses. 

The closer she got to it, the weaker her knees felt. Couldn’t she make this simple walk without feeling like her entire world was falling apart around her? She managed to collapse into a seat and close her eyes, holding onto the sides tightly. 

_The slick feeling of warm blood coated her hands. His body… It was so light in death…_

She gasped and jerked up, ignoring the confused stares of her fellow passengers. 

_All she wanted was one more smile, one more touch, one more kiss. But his lips were cold, forever silenced. Just wake up. Please._

Aelin covered her mouth with a hand so she wouldn’t throw up. She felt a hot tear drip down her cheek.

“Ma’am?” the elderly woman next to her asked. “Are you alright?” She managed to shake her head, looking out the window to keep herself anchored. Almost to _Délices_. Just one more stop, and then she would never set foot in a bus again. 

_There was so much blood. It coated everything, and bodies lay scattered across the floor. The back of the bus was still smoking, but she no longer cared about anything besides the still corpse lying next to her, dark eyes unseeing, beautiful face cold -_

Aelin fainted. 

  
  
  
  


Rowan was in a piss-poor mood. First, his perfect batch of croissants had burned in the oven while he was making a chocolate sauce. Second, he accidentally smeared chocolate over his face in the early morning and never noticed, leaving him with a brown mustache for all to see. 

And third, Galathynius was nowhere to be found. Either she skipped, or slept in, or was sick, or whatever - he didn’t give a damn. 

He was looking out the window for the third time that day when he saw the crowd congregating around the city bus. He stuck his head out the door and listened. 

“She just fainted -”

“- don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“Is she okay? Poor girl.” 

He walked over to the bus, elbowing his way through the crowd, and climbed the stairs. A couple of passengers who said they were med students were gathered around a body. He saw a flash of golden hair, and his heart sank. 

“What the hell’s wrong with her?” he demanded. 

“Excuse me, sir,” said a curly-haired woman. “We are examining -”

“She’s my employee,” he said, crossing his arms. “What happened?” 

“She fainted,” somebody said. “And she hasn’t woken up. She screamed a few times, too.” This confirmed his suspicions. Something was going on in Galathynius’s personal life that he didn’t know about. 

He gathered her still body up in his arms. She was frigid, and he shivered, but it was more from the contact of their skin than anything else. Yes, she was beautiful, but he hadn’t really thought about it much until now. 

“I’ll take care of her,” Rowan said, surprised at the possessiveness in his tone. She was his employee. He owed it to her, fire-breathing brat or not. 

He laid her down on the sofa in the break room, putting a glass of water near her head in case she needed it. 

He slapped her in the face. 

Nothing changed, except for his rapidly rising guilt. So he lifted her legs up and splashed the cup of water in her face. She spluttered awake indignantly. 

“Now that you’ve had your nap time,” he said, “Care to explain why the hell you’re so late?” 

She glared at him in pure fury, but he kept his eyes on her face. 

“Has it ever occurred to you,” she said icily, “That some people have personal lives? That some people don’t always put work first? That you are worsening somebody else’s trauma?” She shut her mouth quickly, apparently not having wanted to say that. But the words had spilled out anyway. Rowan felt his heart drop. Yes. There was definitely something going on with Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and he was determined to find out what. She spoke as if he did not know pain. Well, he knew a damn sight more about trauma than a spoiled little princess.

“Get to work,” he muttered, and left the room. He felt her eyes bore holes into his back the entire time. 

  
  
  


Aelin walked to the kitchen, soaking wet and fuming. That self-righteous bastard, to think he knew everything about her. She took out her frustration on some pastry dough, rolling and folding it aggressively until she knew it would positively light. Unlike her mood. 

She dialed Lysandra with flour-coated hands and waited for her friend to pick up the phone. Her dance class should be out by now. 

“Aaaaeeeelin!” Yes. Lys was definitely home. 

“Hi Lys.” 

“You okay?” she asked, apparently noticing her friend’s somber mood. 

“Not really,” Aelin sighed. “I had to take the bus.” 

“Oh my gods,” Lysandra gasped. “I’m so sorry! If I had known -”

“No,” she interrupted. “You’re fine. I… I sort of fainted? On the way over?” 

“Oh my gods,” she said. “Oh my gods. What happened?”  
  


“Whitethorn found me. He woke me up. I’m still at work.” 

“I’ll pick you up,” Lysandra said immediately. “You need to relax today.” Aelin sighed. 

“I’m not sure I can do that. You know… work and all.”

“Just tell Whitethorn you’re taking a day off. I’m sure he’ll understand.” Aelin murmured something about bastards and workaholics and thanked Lys, hanging up. 

“Hey. Whitethorn,” she called out. “I’m going home. I don’t feel so good.” 

A head of silver hair turned around. “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, washed her hands, and left. Soon enough, Lysandra’s car pulled up, and she hopped in. 

“You look terrible, girl,” Lys said. 

“Thanks,” muttered Aelin. “Way to boost my self-confidence.” 

“My dear, your self-confidence is high enough that it shouldn’t matter.” She laughed, knowing it was true. 

“Thanks for doing this.” 

Lysandra took her hand, keeping one on the steering wheel. “I’m always here for you, A.” She smiled. 

“I know.”


	3. Unexpected Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This party was going to be all sorts of hell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I had a lot of other things going on.

Aelin was hyper as hell. 

Four orders in one day. A tart, two cakes, and a box of cupcakes. And the customers all wanted them made by her, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius the First. That ought to show the Bloody Buzzard Bastard his place. 

She practically skipped home at the end of the day, eyes shining brightly. 

“Are you high?” Lysandra demanded when she walked in. “Please don’t tell me you’re high.” 

“Four orders, Lys!” Aelin crowed. Her friend continued to munch on popcorn.

“Mm-hmm.” 

“How do you eat so much and stay looking like  _ that? _ ” she demanded. Lysandra shrugged. 

“I’m a magical shapeshifter, and my real form is an overweight elderly man.”

“Yeah, sure.” She rolled her eyes and plopped down on the couch. 

“Besides all  _ this _ ,” said Lys, “How did work go?” 

“Whitethorn stayed out of my way, mostly. He’s been better lately, though I have no idea why. Aedion’s still there, in case you were wondering.” 

“Oh my gods, Aelin,” huffed Lysandra, throwing a kernel at her. “I am  _ not  _ interested in your cousin.” She just laughed and dodged the popcorn. 

“Did I tell you about the party?” Aelin jumped up. 

“What party? Am I invited? Who’s coming? Formal or informal?” 

“Slow down,” drawled Lysandra. “It’s just a casual thing at our apartment tomorrow night at ten. Bring your own booze, mostly.” 

Aelin wanted to scream. “ _ Our apartment?”  _ she said, shrilly. She started to run around the room, folding blankets and recycling empty wine bottles. “Who’s coming?” 

Lys shrugged. “Dorian, Elide, Manon, Aedion, Fenrys, and their friends. No one important.”

“No one  _ important?  _ Help me pick out a dress.” 

Lysandra perked up. “Dress?” Aelin laughed and rushed to her closet. She needed something really cute and really scandalous. 

Her best friend held up a bright red, skin-tight outfit with ruffles on the shoulders. Aelin practically drooled. 

“This is  _ it _ . This is divine.” She snatched it up and rushed into the bathroom, putting it on quickly. She couldn’t help the gasp of delight that escaped her. 

When she came out, Lysandra squealed. Her dress hugged her figure, but cascaded out into a short skirt that haloed out when she twirled. 

“I dare you to wear that to work tomorrow,” said Lys. “Whitethorn won’t be able to concentrate!” 

“What the hell, Lysandra,” said Aelin. “If I do wear it, I am  _ not  _ wearing it for that bastard. Yes, he’s hot -” Lys sighed dreamily and pouted. “But I’m not interested in him.” 

Once they had picked out a dark green dress for Lysandra that complimented her eyes, Aelin collapsed onto the couch and opened BuzzFeed, scrolling through pictures of puppies. She loved puppies. And parties. And Netflix. And chocolate. And pissing off Rowan Whitethorn. 

  
  
  


The next day at work, Aelin hummed as she baked. Whitethorn kept shooting her annoyed glances, but she ignored them. 

“Why are you so happy?” he grumbled. 

“I’m going to a party tonight,” she said happily. 

“Don’t show up hungover tomorrow,” he warned. She shook her head. 

“God forbid I drink  _ anything _ .” 

To her surprise, he smiled slightly, but caught himself quickly. She laughed. 

“There. Was that such a crime?” He ignored her and continued crimping a pie. Soon, he opened the oven door and pulled out a piping hot cake round. 

“What’s that?” she asked curiously. “I don’t remember having a cake order.” He shrugged. 

“Just something I made.” She watched in horror as he stuck it straight in the refrigerator. 

“What are you doing?” she yelped. “That’s practically illegal!” He laughed shortly, turning to glare at her. 

“Mind your own damn business.” She rolled her eyes so hard they were in danger of popping out. Aedion stuck his head in the kitchen. 

“Hey, A!” he said with a bright grin. She smiled widely. 

“You ready for the party tonight?” he asked. She cackled. 

“Am I ever! Whitethorn over here says we can’t drink anything.” The man himself made a noise of protest. 

“I did not. I said you couldn’t be hungover at work tomorrow.” He crossed his arms. Aedion laughed. 

“Same difference,” Aelin sang. 

Rowan muttered under his breath. “Fire-breathing bi -” 

The door was flung open suddenly, silencing him with a merry ring of bells. Aelin’s drinking buddy and former fling Fenrys Moonbeam strode in. He flicked a curly lock of hazel hair out of his eyes, head haughtily lifted to expose his smooth, tanned skin. He was insufferable, but in the exact same way Aelin was. She loved him - in a platonic way, of course. 

“What are you doing here, Fenrys?” said Whitethorn. She looked at him, confused. 

“Wait - you know him?” 

“Of course I know him,” he replied irritably. “He’s my roommate.” Aelin’s jaw dropped comically. 

“He’s your  _ roommate? _ Fenrys, why didn’t I know this?” 

“You know him too?” said Rowan, turning on her with a glare. Fenrys just laughed and flung an arm around them both. 

“I came to catch up with my two best friends.” Aelin suppressed a chuckle. Whitethorn with a best friend? Laughable. 

“You coming to the party tonight?” Fenrys asked him, winking roguishly. “You gotta meet another girl. After L -” 

Rowan punched him in the shoulder, hard. “Shut the hell up. I’m not hooking up with anyone.” Aelin stared at him curiously. He was hiding something. 

“I never said that!” Fenrys said, golden eyes widening innocently. 

“What party?” she asked, a little suspicious. 

“The one at your apartment,” he said casually. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. 

“ _ You’re  _ going to that?” she hissed at Whitethorn. How dare he. How dare Fenrys invite that bastard. 

At least he looked shocked, too. “What the  _ actual hell,  _ Fenrys!” 

“Where did you think it was?” he said, nonplussed. “I thought it was weird that you actually accepted. You and A - nah, that doesn’t work. Unless -”

“Spill it, Fen,” growled Rowan. Fenrys grinned widely, white teeth shining. She hated him. Damn idiot. 

“I’m going to set you two up!” he squealed like a kid. Aelin’s jaw dropped open comically. She peeked over at Rowan through a blond lock. He looked slightly bored and was picking at his fingernails. Really? That was the reaction she got?   
  
“No, you’re not,” he said quietly. And that was when she realized he held Fenrys’s hand in his own, squeezing tightly. Fen was getting a little pale. 

“Okay, okay,” he wheezed. Whitethorn let go. 

This party was going to be all sorts of hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was... interesting.


	4. Elide Did What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elide did what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter has taken so long! I've been so busy and stressed out. I'm a freaking bad fanfic writer, I know.

Lysandra once told Aelin that she was a sexy bitch with an ego bigger than Whitethorn’s, and right now, Aelin was truly feeling it. 

Her apartment was dark except for the multicolored light of a cheap disco ball hanging from the ceiling. There was alcohol everywhere. Half-empty beer bottles dripped reeking liquid on the island. A puddle of spilled wine seeped into the white rug. It rather looked like a crime scene, and Aelin was relishing it. 

Dressed in her scarlet dress, she sauntered past adoring guests to check on her girlfriends. Pointedly ignoring a certain Rowan Whitethorn, of course. He was slouched in a corner, glaring at anyone who looked his way. Such a party animal. Aelin rolled her eyes and searched the crowd for Elide. 

She passed the guest bedroom, stopping only to press her ear against the door. No suspicious noises. Good. She needed to keep Dorian and Manon out of trouble. 

“Elide!” Aelin called, pulling her friend in for a hug. Elide was dressed modestly. She looked like she was trying to hide in her baggy green blouse. Parties weren’t Elide’s thing. She preferred small gatherings in well-lit areas (like the coffee shop where she worked), and with a lot less alcohol. She was nursing a Solo cup full of water. 

“It isn’t so bad to be drunk,” Aelin said kindly. “I can get you something, if you--” 

“No, thanks,” Elide said quickly. “I’m good with my water.” Aelin waved Lysandra over. She already looked a bit woozy. 

“Has Whitethorn done anything annoying yet?”   
  
“Surprisingly, no. Apart from killing me with his  _ death glare, _ ” Lys sighed. “He’s kind of hot, you know. In a I’m-gonna-kill-you-so-help-me-God kind of way.” Aelin punched her in the shoulder. 

“I heard Fenrys saying he was going to get you two together,” Elide piped up. Aelin rolled her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 

“Fenrys is an idiot.” 

“Agreed. He’s, like, the patron saint of lost causes.” Aelin snorted. 

“You know who needs to get together with someone?” Aelin said pointedly. “Miss Elide Lochan.” Elide shrank down even further in her clothes, cheeks turning red. 

Lysandra giggled. “We must protect our lady at all costs, lest her innocence be tainted.”

Elide opened her mouth, then shut it.    
  
“You, my friend,” Aelin said, waving in her general direction with a croissant, “are still a virgin.” Lys nodded encouragingly. “You need to get yourself a man or a woman, dear innocent.” 

Elide shook her head quickly. “I am  _ not  _ an innocent.” Aelin scoffed. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve hooked up with anyone since we last saw you.” But Elide’s cheeks reddened further. Aelin saw her glance at the other side of the room, but there were too many people there to narrow it down. 

Lysandra clapped her on the shoulder. “Who was it? Fenrys?” 

Elide laughed. “God, no.”

“Tell us,” Aelin demanded, biting into her croissant. Elide smiled shyly.

“Lorcan.”

Lysandra whooped loudly, drawing a few pairs of eyes. Of course it was Lorcan Salvaterre, resident bad boy and possibly the scariest person Aelin had ever met. Of course he hooked up with Elide Lochan, the most shy, quiet girl ever to exit the womb, with her baby face and short stature. Of course. Aelin shook her head in disbelief. 

“And why didn’t I know this?”   
  
“We’re not dating,” Elide said, smiling nervously. “Yet. He hasn’t asked me out.” 

“There goes our young, innocent baby,” Lysandra said tearfully. “All grown up.” Elide smacked her in the arm and giggled. 

“The child leads the lion,” Aelin said in wonder. “Elide, you amaze me. How’d you get him to do it?” 

“I just--I dunno, I talked to him a bit at work... He’s pretty nice.” Lys snorted. 

“Bad boy, soft heart--what’s next, tortured past?” 

“Please, no,” Aelin groaned. “I can’t deal with another tragic backstory.” But her eyes hardened anyway. Yes, there were too many tortured memories in her past. She couldn’t handle another. 


End file.
